Interview With A Goblin King
by Lacessit
Summary: No matter how pretty the garden, dirt is dirt. JxS
1. Jareth

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Labyrinth. Nor do I own a working Word program with a spell check. So excuse any minor speling errors. I've tried to catch them all.

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**Interview With A Goblin King**

**Interview Number One:**

**Jareth.**

When I first stepped through the mirror I had set up to lean against my wall, I was positive of two things. One, I was going to leave Ohio and enter the Underground. Two, I was scared somewhat shitless of what I might or might not uncover during this interview.

How I even managed to arrange this interview is beyond me, as is the reason why I decided to conduct it in the first place. So maybe I am a bit nosy when it comes to peoples' private lives, but that is usually reserved for friends-of-friends and celebrities. Most of the other information is either given to me, or I don't care enough to bud in.

Friendship and trust are two of the elements that are key in executing the perfect interview. As the interviewer, I have to be on the same level as the interviewee. This particular interviewee I have only known personally for about a year and a half. Going into great detail as to how we met isn't necessary nor do I have the time to do so; all you need to know that we have, over the time we have known each other, formed a tight, if somewhat strained friendship.

Arriving in the Underground, I take the path that had been explained to me. A few turns, some walking, and a small leap later, I am standing outside of the Castle Beyond the Goblin City. (Really, if Sarah had the common sense to ask for simple directions...) Pressing my whole body up against the heavy iron doors, I turn to my left, walking down the dusty hallway. As I approach the stairs that I knew would get me to where I wanted to be, I feel the anticipation rising in me. The backs of my knees become moist and tingle with excitement, as my right hand shoves itself into the front pocket on my denim shorts. Nervously, I straighten the white tank of which I had thrown a black zip up hoodie over, shake the hair from my eyes, and make my way up the stair case.

As I turn the corner that led into the tower, my hands instinctively fly up to shield my eyes from the sun, currently shining through the single window. Once my eyes adjust to the orange-yellow light, I blink back the remaining bits of colorful specks flooding my vision, and take a seat on the window bench.

Two, three, four minutes passed, and I am still alone in the room. Rolling my eyes, I set down my large bag, pen and notebook, and stand up, crossing my arms. Facing the door that I had previously walked through, I am prepared to call my interviewee's name when that familar English drawl fills the room.

"Patience is a virtue, dear friend." Turning around, I find that he is sitting where I had been sitting, one booted ankle crossed over the other. With an annoyed sigh, I lean against the brick wall.

"You're late." I say, trying my hardest to lace venom in my words. He merely laughs, a half-hearted chuckle that barely registers in my mind as a sound.

"Who is to say that you aren't early?" He flashes his predator-like teeth in a brilliant show of self-admiration, to which I only pinch the bridge of my nose, in a vain attempt to fight away the uncoming migraine. Eyes closed, I hear the distinct sound of a body rising, and I see that he has stood as well, and is making his way towards the door. Fighting confusion, I admit defeat, before gathering my things and following my first subject.

As we make our way down the winding stair case, I resist the urge to make a joke at the normality of the stairs, instead opting to clear my throat. "I thought," I begin, licking my suddenly dry lips, "I thought we were going to do this up there?" My voice shakes slightly, and I promptly shut my mouth, wondering why it is that I am so nervous.

"I'm letting you do this, it is only fair that I choose as to where it happens." And with that, we are off of the stairs, and walking through the corridors of the castle-a labyrinth in itself.

In silence, he leads me to the back of the castle. He disappears behind a large oak door, and I make it through with just barely enough time as to miss the door slamming shut. Spinning around, my eyes widen at the noise the door made, my mind whirling with the possiblity that I could have been lodged between it and the wall. At this, my brows furrow together. Sure, he's not the nicest person, but I'm sure he usually would have held the door. Shaking my head, I turn again, to find him sitting on a large rock.

Looking around, I see that we are in a garden of sorts, a garden you would not expect to see behind the Goblin King's castle. The colors aren't dull and angry; on the contrary, the flowers and grasses are lively and vibrant. Instantly, I feel myself warming up to the idea of doing the interview out here. Perhaps the splendidness of it all will lighten the mood.

My eyes land on Jareth, who is staring absentmindedly at me. Suddenly, his face becomes marred with something of impatience, and I take the hint. Realizing that the King is the only one to have a seemingly-proper seating arrangement, I slowly lower myself onto the ground, making the observation that no matter how pretty the garden, dirt is dirt.

"Well, before I start, let me assure that I do not wish to cross any boundaries and anything that you do not want to tell me, you do not need to tell me," I say, before again shaking my dark brown away from my eyes, and re-tying it in a messy bun at the left base of my neck. Taking out a pen, I sigh. "That being said, for the sole purpose of this interview, we are going to have to go back twenty years, give or take a few months." Looking at him through a curtain of eyelashes, I cocked up one eyebrow, and he nodded in approval.

Rubbing a small hand over my eyes, I release a small sigh, looking contently out into the horizon. Eyes still looking out, I address Jareth.

"When did you first take notice of her?" I say, not specifying who I am talking about. I'm positive he knew.

"I'll estimate she was around twelve or thirteen years of age in your time," He says, staring at his gloves. He begins a process, tugging them loose, then pulling them back down; loose, down, loose, down. "Her parents were getting a divorce, and she had recently bought the book." He stops, seemingly suprised that I hadn't been writing a thing. Shaking his head, he continues. "She became rather enthralled with the tale, as it was so familiar to her-"

"In what way?" I interrupt, placing my head in my hands, elbows on my knees.

He considers for a moment, "A young maiden, upset by her world crumbling before her, having to be her own support system. It was all relevent to her." I nod, and he carries on with his previous thoughts. "It was when her father met that woman, who was completely opposite of her birth mother in every aspect, that things seemed to become to heated for her. As the years went on, her father remarried, had a new child. She began to feel very distant. The man who once loved her and only her now had a loving wife and a bouncing baby boy. The three of them made the perfect family unit."

"She began reciting the words in the tale?"

He nods his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "Yes, she could recite it perfectly, every cue was just right. Except for that blasted last line...Not that it is something I wanted her to remember." A casual shrug, and he seems to zone out.

"And then she said the words. You thought it was perfect, no?"

"I thought we were both going to find happiness. I thought she would have gladly accepted the crystal-"

"Were you a part of her dreams?" I nterrupt for the second time.

"I assumed so...Though, looking back on it now, her dream was to play the heroine in her own fairy tale. So, in all actuality, she not only got the babe in the end, but her dreams as well." I notice his says his last thought with a trace of bitterness, as I lean back, supporting my weight with my hands.

"Did you punish her friends?" I ask, pushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"No," he says simply, shaking his head, "I knew that if I did, that it would get back to her some way or another." I furrow my eyebrows, biting my tongue in thought.

"Everyone paints you differently," I say, staring off behind Jareth, "Some make you an angst-ridden, battered soul, some make a love-blinded crazy fool, some make you a selfish bastard with a lack of any ounce of undertsanding what-so-ever." He laughs a bit, once again a hollow chuckle, "Yet, you refused to carry out a promised punishment because of what she would think...What do you have to say about all those characterizations, Jareth?"

He takes a long pause, and I take the time to truly look him over. Jareth, the Goblin King; the man who haunted my thoughts and play-time since I was just a three year old in my grandmother's basement. The man I used to drool over, the man who I tried again and again to say the words and wish something away-a pencil, a rock, a plate of stroganoff. Here we both were, eleven years after I first tasted the forbidden fruit that is Labyrinth. The King and the Girl. No longer humorous "enemies", or the self-proclaimed, courtesy of myself, "frenemies", but two people trying to understand one's past, when neither of us really do.

"I'd say," He finally replies, breaking me out of my thought process, "Don't judge a book by it's cover."

I tilt my head to one side, repositioning my legs so that my hand can support my head, while still having my elbow resting on my knee. I open my mouth, close it, and open it again.

"That's, uh...that's really all I needed to know." I get up, hastily throwing my things into my bag. "Thank you for your time." Making my way back into the castle, I find my way to the front, and, speed-walking through the Goblin City, I prepare to find my next subject. Where ever he may be.

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06/27/09: I did a small rewrite, it's nothing major!


	2. Hoggle

Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth. Or the Word program. Yada yada.

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**Interview With A Goblin King**

**Interview Number Two:**

**Hoggle.**

It seems a bit clichéd, at least to your average, everyday Labyrinth fan.

Hoggle - the dwarf, the unofficial gatekeeper to the Labyrinth - keeping the swarm of fairies away with his trusty spray bottle of water. But as I approach my next subject, it certainly wasn't the same scene as your average, everyday Labyrinth fan would remember.

The dwarf's grip on his spray bottle is so tight, I can see his mangled brown fingers turning white from the pressure. His bushy eyebrows are drawn together tightly, his lips in a thin, angry line. He sprays the swarm with defiance in his actions, his body as a whole thrusting with the motions of his fingers. Gone are the happy cries of victory as yet another member of the swarm is knocked down by the steady stream of water, replaced by silence that would make even the oldest mute, Above or Under, feel heavy with uncomfortableness.

Slowly, I come up behind Hoggle, gently clearing my throat. I can see from his profile that his blue eyes become wide with alertness, as he quickly spins on his heels. Upon spinning, his expression becomes harsh and angry, as if the very sight of me is too much to handle. I raise my arms up, as if in surrender, and clear my throat for the second time.

"Please, sir, a moment of you ti-" I cut myself off, leaning into him, "Why did you seem so angry as you were spraying, Hoggle?"

He raises his left index finger, pointing it accusingly at me. "You!" He whisper-shouts, wagging his finger in my face, "You had to come up in here, didn't you!" I can tell that my face becomes marred with confusion, because he continues his rant, offering an explanation.

"You had to come in here and get all friendly with the Goblin King, didn't you?" I open my mouth to explain, but he waves it off, "You think you can replace Sarah like that? Do you reali-"

"Please, stop!" I yell, heaving my notebook and pen at the ground. "You have got it all wrong!" He retreats, hooking his spray bottle through a loop on his brown trousers. Sliding my thumbs into the belt loop on my jeans, I take a cautious step forward, shaking my head. "No, no, please, I would never- me and Jare- you've got to be kidding...No, never." Sighing heavily, I plop down onto the ground, dropping my head in my hands. Massaging my temples, I hear him nervously cough, and I see him fidgeting with his fingers through my own.

"I was being so hard on the fairies because-well, they've really been gettin' into my garden. They take my flowers-my own flowers!-back to their land, and then try tellin' people they planted 'em themselves." He stops for a moment, scratching his head, "It's agitatin', you know?" I nod my head in agreement, even though I couldn't really relate. Smoothing down his vest, he speaks.

"Anyway," His words seem to carry the same agitation he spoke of so vividly, "What brings you here?" I smile politely, remembering the manners that have been shoved down my throat since I was able to speak.

"I wanted to talk to you-" He grumbles, something about 'talkin' to these silly fangirls' "-about Sarah." Instantly, his heavy head shoots up, as do his eyebrows. Placing his hands on his hips, he takes a few steps towards me, and I can tell he is questioning my motives. "Not just about Sarah," I quickly spill out, crossing my arms and looking above him, to the Labyrinth. "About everything that happened."

"Oh, well, why would you want to know, anyhow? What good'll it do you?" He says, walking away from me. Using my hands, I push myself off of the dirt, following the dwarf on his heels.

"You must know how many people know the story of the King who fell in love with the girl?" I ask, but he barely regards my question, "Well, for as many people who know the story, at least half manipulate it into their own." He stops. "I wanted to make sure I get it right. It's just been twisted so many times." Abruptly, he turns around, the anger back in his eyes.

"If you are one of those people that know the story so well," He puts poison into his words that even I could not match, "Why don't you already know this stuff?" Hands on his hips, he cocks his head to one side, and raises his right brow.

For a moment I find myself speechless, stammering over my words. As I gain composure back from Hoggle's outburst, I walk up to him, lowering my voice. "I know the story from my point-of-view," I say, resting a hand on his shoulder, "But that's not enough."

Roughly, he jerks himself away from my hand, staring vacantly back at me, "Oh, it ain't never enough for you damned Abovegrounders, is it?"

Again, confusion. "Why are you getting so angry about this?"

He sighs, and looks to his hands. I can see that they are dirtied by the work he does, some fingers red and raw from pulling weeds and digging. He glides his left ring finger down his right hand, tilting his head, as if to examine the flesh. "Most of you who come here-wishing away a baby, because I ain't never seen someone come here like you are-don't ask for my, or anyone's, advice. They just trample on through as if they are the greatest thing. Sarah, she was different. She knew she was in a much different place than what she was used to. She asked for my advice, even when I was being hard about it. And..."

"And?" I question.

He looks to me, eyes wide and loving at the idea of Sarah, "And she didn't trample my garden." He looks over his left shoulder, at his garden. "It ain't nothing special, that I know, but I like keepin' it up. And she said that," He walks over to the wall, where multiple white flowers adorn the brick, "These were her favorite. I brought her a batch once, and she loved it. Special thing about these," He plucks a flower from the brick, and walks over to me, "is that, like most of the royals here, they don't die. Well," Taking advantage of my leaning position, he places the flower behind my right ear, "not easily, anyway."

Fingering the flower, amazed at the silk-like texture against my fingers, I release a dreamy sigh, before snapping back to Hoggle. "Do you visit her often?" His shoulders droop a bit, and he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

"We would," I'm sure he is talking about Didymus and Ludo,"but we gotta be careful, you know?" I nod, and he nods as well, "His Majesty, I don't know if he's keepin' an eye on her or what."

"He hasn't punished you for what you did, twenty-some years ago?" I ask, recalling the conversation I had with the King. Hoggles shakes his head.

"Nawh, he's just probably waiting for the right time," He says it in a way that convinces me he doesn't believe they will ever be punished, "You know how perfect everything must be with him." I chuckle at that thought, but Hoggle remains silent.

"Hoggle?" I begin, and he lifts his gaze to meet mine, "Do you think..." I pause, trying to find the right words, "Do you think Sarah would come back here?"

He furrows his brows, "For us?"

"For you, and..." I look towards the castle. Looking back at Hoggle, his eyes are locked on the castle, and I can see something burning behind them. A brief instant of hate, defiance, and...jealousy?

Finally, he looks back at me, releasing one final sigh.

"I really don't know." Picking up his spray-bottle, I can see him spraying the fairies once again. But this time, the grip isn't as tight, there are small cries of pleasure, and the dwarf's step is a little lighter. He looks to me, and smiles knowingly.

"If you go that way," He points to the area behind me, where a thick, dark forest spreads out for what seems like miles, "Make an immediate left, walk a few walks, and you should see my cottage. It's in there, you don't have to wait for a call. Just be quiet about it." I nod to him, smiling broadly, and he smiles back, before returning to his work.

Making my way into the forest, I prepare for my third and final subject. Which may just be the hardest.


	3. Sarah

Disclaimer: I do not own Labyrinth. Or the Word program. Yeah.

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**Interview With A Goblin King**

**Interview Number Three:**

**Sarah.**

Stepping through the portal Hoggle had guided me to in his modest cottage, I take a good look around. I am in an apartment, a medium-sized, uptown apartment. The color scheme is that of an art-deco newbie; light grays mixed with ice blues and charcoals. When both of my feet are firmly planted on the hardwood floor, I set my bag down, and start walking throughout the apartment.

"Miss Williams?" I call out, soft enough as to not disturb the neighbors. I get silence in return. Turning the corner, I find myself in a living room, a flat screen television set, on but not occupied. "Miss Williams?" Nothing.

Backing away, I stop suddenly when I bump into another person. Turning around sharply, both myself and the other person release gasps, my own being quiter in comparison to her's.

"Miss Williams." I say breathlessly, and she is visibly confused. Shaking her head, she raises a cellular phone into my view.

"I will call the police if you do-" I interrupt her, eyes cast downward.

"No, please Miss Williams. I intend no harm here." My hand on her wrist, I lower her arm, before slowly settling myself down onto the gray couch. "I am a friend...of sorts."

One perfectly arched black eyebrow raises in confusion, but she sits herself down next to me, though I can see she is wary. "'A friend of sorts'?" She repeats, crossing her arms, her spine stiff. I nod my head, smiling politely.

"Don't ask how I got here, or who I am, because it's all really too much to explain." I look into her gray eyes, and for the first time notice the small flecks of green woven throughout the gray. Tilting my head, I examine her face. The general roundess of childhood is gone, replaced with high cheekbones. Her cheeks have a natural flush to them, her lips rosy, her nose slender. She is wearing her long raven hair in a high ponytail-style, with a few layers framing her face.

"I just came here," I begin, crossing my right leg over my left, "to get some background information."

"On me?"

"Yeah, on you. And some things, okay, one thing, that happened during your childhood." Placing my head in my left hand, I tap my nails against the couch. "Again, don't ask how I know this stuff. Just try to take comfort in the fact that I have experienced it as well, but not in the way you have." I raise my gaze to her's, hazel eyes staring warmly at gray ones. "I came into this with nothing at stake. You had everything at stake."

As I finish my thought, I can see the awareness settle upon her face. Her eyes widen, her lips part, and two perfectly manicured hands raise up to cover most of her mouth. Her head slowly makes it's way left to right, left, right left, right, before lowering, her chin making contact with the line of her collarbone. Finally, she sighs, the first two fingers on each hand now gently massaging her temples in a steady, circular motion.

"You mean..." She begins with another sigh, though this one is drawn out and considerably deeper than the first, "You mean to tell me," Raising her head, she keeps her gaze on me, while pushing herself off of the couch, "That you have gone..."

"Underground." I reply stoically, fighting the urge to smile when David Bowie's butter-like voice fills my head.

To my utter suprise, Sarah starts to laugh, a small chuckle at first, before it slowly progresses into a half-amused, half-denying psychosis snigger. Turning her back to me, she walks away, a few feet from me, and I can hear her talking to herself under her breath.

"Ma'am, please," I say, getting up and coming to her, placing my small hands on her thin shoulders. The straps on her black tank top come in contact with my fingers, and I grip her shoulders tighter, pelading with my eyes for her to give me a chance. "You are not crazy. Stop denying the fact that this happened. You know what you did, as do I and a whole lot of other people in this world." Ignoring her startled gaps and befuddled stare, I roll my eyes, walking away from her.

"Look," She near-yells, pointing an accusing finger at me much like the way Hoggle previously had, "if you think you can just come in here, and bring something up from my past that I'm sure didn't even happen, you've got another thing com-" She stops suddenly, her eyes narrowing darkly. Stammering over my words, I back away, raising my arms as if to protect myself.

"Sarah?" I ask, backing away further, "S-Sarah, what's wrong?" I stop when my back hits a wall, and I wince as she comes closer. Her slender fingers reach out, and I realize what she has found.

Plucking the flower from behind my ear, I can see her eyes begin to well with tears. Looking fiercely at me, her expression becomes that of hollow anger.

"What..." She swallows the obvious lump in her throat, "What is this?"

Smiling meakly, I release a nervous giggle. "Do you believe me now?"

She leans back against the wall I am currently up against, sinking to her knees. I follow in the same fashion, and we sit, Labyrinth Defeater and Labyrinth Beginner, side-by-side, in silence. After two minutes in quiet, she licks her noticably dry lips, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"You got this from Hoggle?" A nod is her response, a chuckle is mine. "Did he tell you they are my favorite?" Another nod. She lifts her right arm, pointing down the hall, where a dining area perfect for four people is beyond an cracked door. "I have a bunch in this nice vase I bought at the flea market...Must've been about two dollars, heard it was worth about two hundred after buying it."

I smile. "Did you consider selling it?"

Shaking her head, she lifts herself up, walking down the hall. I follow. Once we enter the room, I see the vase. What looks like seventy-five of the white flowers stick out at all angles, as Sarah's soft hands wrap around the vase. She picks it up from the stained-wood table, bringing the vase closer to my eyes. I gasp at the simplistic beauty of it, and she smiles.

"Can you see why I did not want to sell it?"

And I do. Because despite the simplicity of the vase, it is clear to me why Sarah thought it was special - crystal clear. Quite literally.

The vase is a perfect sphere, not even flattening out at the bottom to rest on a surface easier, nor at the top to allow for more flowers. The surface of the vase shows a reflection, though not a perfect mirror image, of whoever is looking into it. When sitting on the dining area's table, it holds it's own to the other, fancier pieces decorating Sarah's apartment, without being at all flashy or over-the-top.

It's a crystal, nothing more...

"Wow," I sigh, letting my right pointer and middle finger slide down the side of the vase. She nods her head in agreement, scrapping her top teeth against her bottom lips in a suggestion of a smile.

"I can't stand the thought of losing it..." Her eyes remain on the vase, which she is now holding in a hug. Looking at the vase as well, I part my lips, close them, then re-open them.

"Is that because you...?" I drift off, raising my eyebrows quizically. She looks to me, shrugging with indifference.

"Love him?" Setting the vase down, she walks to the large winder at the end of the room, separting the gray curtains, "I'd call it an infatuation, really. A childhood crush that has stayed solid through adulthood. It seems," She closes the curtains again, pulls out the chair at the end of the table, and sits, tapping her nails against the wood, "that it is affecting my love life."

"Really?"

She blows a raspberry with her mouth, lowering her head to her arms. "Well, no. I just hate dating."

I laugh, "I can relate."

"Really?" She asks, much like I just had.

My face becomes a stone, "No. Sorry."

"I think I could though." I don't ask her for the specifics, I know what she means. "If I were to go back there...I definitely would..." She plays with the ivory polish on her fingernails, picking and chipping away at the cover until little flecks fall from her nails. Bringing the pile to her hand, she turns her palm over, letting the flecks fall to the floor.

I break the silence. "So why don't you?"

"Go back?" She questions in reply, and I nod my head once. She shrugs again, looking to the ceiling. "Because I'm afraid. I'm terribly, overly, dangerously afraid." Her hands now in her lap, she smooths the lines of her dark jeans, before turning her palms up to face her. She traces one finger down the lines in her left palm. She mutters a small 'No', pressing her palms to her cheeks.

"Afraid of what you feel?"

"No," She says, looking at me without truly looking at me, "Afraid of what he feels." I try to question her, but she opens her mouth to explain without being pushed. "I mean, really, I'd be relatively pissed if I was in his situation. I'm sure he had it all planned out, and then I go and ruin it? Not very nice of me, you know?" She walks out of the room, leaving me alone for the third time. I get up, following her once again, and I see she had gone into the kitchen. Opening the small window, despite the winter weather, she gestures for me to come forward.

"I have this all year round," She says, in reference to the small box containing a make-shift garden, just below her window. Checking each petal of each flower, she smiles, and I notice that they are the same flower that she had in the crystal vase, as well as the one I had in my hair. "People always ask how I keep them alive, especially with the crazy-bad snow storms we get in this area."

"And what do you say?" I ask, my eyes still on the flowers. Looking up to her, she smiles knowingly, turning her wrist in much the same manner Jareth had so many times before.

"It's magic." With a small giggle, she brings herself back into the kitchen. Once I am fully inside as well, I assist her in slamming the window shut. As we walk back into the living room, she stops, turning to face me. "Have you...talked to him?" She brings her hands together, entwining her fingers. Walking backwards, she turns back to the living room, and she sits in a chair near the black stone fireplace. "I don't want to seem like some love-blinded crazy fool," I smile at her choice of words, "I haven't even given him that much thought these past twenty-some years..." She bites a little on her right ring finger, and I notice that, since I have been here, her manicure gets a little less perfect with each passing thought, "But your visit has sparked some, I don't know, sudden interest, I guess you could say."

I shake my hand slowly, waving away the notion of "love-blindedness". "No explanation needed, I fully understand. Jareth is quite the interesting character." We both seem to drink in the first time his name has been used this whole visit. "Yes, I've taked to him. You'd be suprised-or maybe not-to find that I actually do go there quite often. It's like an escape, you know?" She licks her lips, and nods in agreement.

"Growing up," She says, her eyes focused on the unused wood in the fireplace, "When I would ask my friends to visit, none of them seemed to give him much thought either. But Hoggle," She says, leanng foward in her chair, "He always seemed a little..."

"Paranoid?" I interject, raising an eyebrow.

She shakes her head. "No, he always seemed...not paranoid, just...worried. Does that make sense?" I agree mutely, even thought it doesn't, really. "Maybe, I don't know, he was worried that if I came back because of him, I'd get myself into trouble, you know?" She taps her pointer finger against her teeth. "What do you think?"

_If I were to go back there...I definitely would..._

"I think that, if going back for Jareth is what you've come to realize as what you truly want, Hoggle will be just fine with it." Looking to my watch, my eyes become wide with panic. "Oh, geez, sorry Miss Williams, I've really got to go." I run around, collecting my things and preparing to go through Hoggle's portal. Just as I am about to step through, Sarah's hand wraps around my forearm.

"Wait, go? Where?"

I smile, "Home." She still looks utterly confused. "Ohio." I explain simply. She hesitates, lets go of my arm. Retreats. I hear the creak of the wood floor just as I am about to step through. Holding my breath, I tip-toe to the corner of the room, as quiet as a mouse. Lightly, I place my hands and ear to the door that Sarah has just stepped through. Silence reigns over for what seems like hours, and even though it seemed like I should have left, I knew there was a reason why I felt so obligated to stay.

"I wish..." My breath catches in my throat. Sinking against the wall, I bring my knees to my chest.

"I wish..." _Come on Sarah, go with your heart..._

"I wish Jareth would come and take me away...Right now."

Silence.

With a proud smile, I roll my shoulders back, letting my head softly knock against the wall. Shaking my head, I chuckle loudly, joyously.

_You owe me one, Jareth._

Picking up Hoggle's flower from the table where Sarah had set it, I tuck it back behind my ear, organize my things, and prepare to step through the portal. Giving the apartment one last glance, I release a dreamy sigh.

_You owe me big._

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Do you see the connection in each interview? Gardens.

And I don't care if no one reviews this ever again. Rarely do I ever get stories that won't leave me alone on here, so this is a real accomplishment.


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